


A Life of One's Own

by Dragongoddess13



Series: Tumblr Prompts [53]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragongoddess13/pseuds/Dragongoddess13
Summary: Prompt from Kyoshisideb: I was thinking about writing a fic where Arya gets tired of trying to please her mother and takes her tomboy style. Although she seems confident, she is insecure and fears that the change in the look of it makes others move away or find it uglier (all the comparisons with sansa etc). But she happens to have very supportive friends Hot Pie, Lom, Meera, and of course, Gendry uwu. I think about it all day despite not having the time or patience to write. If you feel interested, it would be GREAT.





	A Life of One's Own

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot longer at one point, but I kind of wrote myself into a hole so I had to cut a bunch of stuff out so I could finally answer this prompt. Sorry it took so long!

A Life of One’s Own

xXx

“Why can’t you just be like your sister? Just once?” Catelyn Stark rarely raises her voice. She was well known for her even temper and calm demeanor, but like everyone, she had her limits. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t regret it the moment the words leave her mouth. 

“Because I’m not Sansa!” Arya screams, years of frustration finally boiling over. 

Catelyn freezes, the weight of her outburst catching up with her. “Arya-”

“I’m so sorry I’m such a colossal disappointment.” Arya turns on her heels, storming up the stairs, passed the siblings who’ve come down to see what the commotion is, and into her room, slamming the door as hard as humanly possible and startling Nymeria in the process. 

Nymeria watches as Arya paces the floor, rage boiling beneath the surface, her face red, twisted in frustration and an undercurrent of sorrow. Why? Why was everything she did not good enough? Why did she have to be someone else to be good enough for her mother, for anyone? What was so wrong with her? 

Arya lets out a frustrated growl, throwing herself on the bed. It’s been like this for as long as she can remember. They were raised to be proper ladies, the daughters her father needed to put on a good front for the public. Her brothers were allowed to have fun and be boys, and when they reached a certain age they started following in their father’s footsteps. Arya and Sansa on the other hand, were expected to do what they were told, follow the rules. Don’t be too loud, don’t take up too much space, don’t get dirty and don’t be anything less than ladylike. Her father had always been more lax with all of them, but her mother always made up the difference. 

Well, Arya is anything but ladylike. Sure she can put on a dress, maybe some heels, a little make up and she can look the part just fine, but she doesn’t want to, it doesn’t feel right and she doesn’t think she should have to do anything she doesn’t want to just because her mother thinks she should. Why should she? It was her life, it should be her decisions that matter, no one else's. 

Arya sat up, dislodging Nymeria where she’s laid her head on Arya’s stomach. “Fuck all of this.” she mutters, crawling off the bed and grabbing a pair of scissors out of her desk drawer. In the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, Arya takes her long braid in hand, pulling it around her head. Taking up the scissors, she slices it off just above the shoulder. Her mother loves her long hair. Sometimes Arya thinks it’s the only thing she really loves about her. Now it’s gone, and she didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. 

Arya takes a deep breath, tossing the severed, braided strands on the counter with the scissors and shaking out her hair from the rest of the braid. What’s left lays just above her shoulders, wavy from the braid she usually keeps it in. She tousles it out, pulling at the strands to straighten them out. She trims them up, evening them up as best she can. When she’s finished she steps back to get a good look at herself in the mirror. What she sees brings tears to her eyes. 

Arya has never considered herself pretty, it’s hard to when you stand up next to someone like Sansa everyday. It’s even harder when people like to remind you you aren’t. Horse faced, short, boyish. She knows she’ll would never be pretty, there are somethings a new hair cut and make up just can’t fix, but it doesn’t stop her from hoping. Hope that fades with each passing day that she is reminded she just doesn’t measure up to Sansa or her mother’s standards. 

Arya takes a deep shaky breath, wiping the tears from her eyes and walking out. She stands in her room, looking around absently. Without really thinking about it, she slips her jacket on, grabs her back pack off the floor and slips out her bedroom window. 

xXx

Gendry doesn’t see Arya right away. She’s sitting on the front stoop of his porch, hidden behind the large bushes his mother hates but doesn’t have time to cut down. Gendry pulls into his driveway and grabs his bags out of the back seat, stepping out of the car and walking around to the front of the house. 

“Arya?” he asks, as he catches sight of her. “What are you doing here?” there’s something in the way she looks at him, a deep sorrow in her eyes, and the next thing he knows, he’s dropping his bags on the sidewalk and sitting down next to her. “What’s wrong?” 

Arya shrugs. “Can I hang out here for a little while?” she asks, her voice softer than he’s ever heard it. 

“Yeah, of course.” he doesn’t hesitate. She’s always welcome here. 

She smiles up at him, eyes watering a bit. “Thanks.” she chokes out, leaning into his side as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” his tone is gentle, and he hopes she can hear the concern in it. 

“It’s stupid.” she mutters, letting him help her to her feet. He hands her his keys and turns to grab his bags while she unlocks the front door. “Your mom still on the business trip?” she asks as she holds the door for him. “I thought she was supposed to be back by now.” 

“Yeah, her boyfriend decided to surprise her on the last day of the conference. They’re going to spend the weekend together; be home by Monday.” 

“That’s nice.” she replies, following him up the stairs. “How was practice?” 

“Ridiculous.” Gendry complains, tossing his bags in the corner of his room. He knows she’s stalling, avoiding having to tell him what’s bothering her. “Ever since they caught Podrick smoking under the bleachers at the stadium, coach has been riding us harder than usual.” he explains, collapsing back on his bed. 

“I’m sorry. If your tired I can go.” she tells him, standing awkwardly in the doorway. A fact that worries Gendry more than anything. 

Arya stark is like fire. Fierce, she burns hot, consuming everything in her wake and then some. She is rarely ever unsure or uncomfortable, especially not around him. He isn’t sure exactly when she wormed her way under his skin, but it happened and there is rarely a time she isn’t here or he at her home, sprawled comfortably, invading each other’s space. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he tells her, sitting up and gesturing for her to join him. She does, taking a seat on the end of his bed as he props himself up against the headboard. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Arya hesitates. “I got into a fight with my mum.” she finally says, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She won’t look at him, so Gendry slides to the end of the bed, grabbing her attention as he stops in front of her. There are tears in her eyes, and Gendry reaches up, wiping them from her cheeks. “What about?” 

“Robb’s wedding. Talisa found this really pretty outfit for me to wear in the wedding. It matches the dresses, it’s like a pants suit, but it’s all one piece and I really liked it for as fancy looking as it is with it’s low neckline and all, but my mum said it didn’t look right. She said I wouldn’t match and I had to wear the dress like all the other bride’s maids. We started screaming at each other and she said…” 

“What? Arya, what did she say?” 

She’s trying not to cry, he can see, her bottom lip quivering a bit as she attempts to restrain herself. “She asked me why I couldn’t be more like Sansa.” the tears fell now, beyond her control. “I don’t understand why I’m not good enough. Why can’t I be myself? What’s so wrong with me?” 

Gendry moves closer, pulling her into his lap. “Hey, stop that. There’s nothing wrong with you Arry.” he tells her, holding her closer as she begins to sob. 

“There is!” she cries. “I’m not good enough for anything.” she stutters through a sob. “I’m not pretty or smart or...or…” she stiffles another sob, burying her face in his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. 

Gendry’s not sure how long he sits there with her, rocking her back and forth gently and whispering kind words to her. He tells her that she’s perfect the way she is. He tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and she wouldn’t be herself if she changed for her mother, or anyone else. She’s Arya Stark, the She-wolf of the Stark Clan. Fierce and loyal and tough as claws. She’s his Arry, his best friend, even more than Jon or Hot Pie. 

“Don’t do this to yourself.” he says. “Don’t let them tear you down. You’re amazing. Just because you’re not good or don’t enjoy traditionally feminine things, doesn’t make you any less than anyone else.” 

He begins to feel her calm down, the sobs slowing and her breathing evening out. He pulls back enough to get a look at her, her face red and a little swollen from the tears that have fallen. 

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but I bet if you talked to your mum she’d be beside herself for saying that to you.” he tells her. He can see it in her eyes, she knows it’s the truth. It doesn’t make her feel any better. He didn’t expect it to. 

Gendry has known Arya and her family since he was eight years old, Arya only six. His father, Robert Baratheon, had grown up with her father, Eddard “Ned” Stark. They had been the best of friends and both had wanted the same for their own children. Arya had been nothing like he expected from the moment he met her. Where Sansa prefered to play with her dolls and her tea sets (and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that) Arya had preferred to play with the boys. Running around the yard, playing in the mud, rough housing, she had always been, just one of the guys. 

But as they got older and gender politics started to matter a little more to their peers, Arya came under fire for not being more feminine, for preferring to spend her time with boys instead of other girls. She was teased for not liking dresses and for shunning make up. There were a few bullies who called her horse faced which had pissed him off more than anything. She acted like it didn’t bother her, but he could see it chipping away are her armor. Things only got worse when her mother started pressuring her to behave like a lady. By thirteen, she was already planning Arya’s society coming out, a fact that Arya had become an expert at avoiding. He has little doubt that contributed to the argument today. 

Arya sits in his lap for a while, even after she’s calmed down. He doesn’t mind, he likes having her this close. He always likes having her close. As the years passed, Gendry realized Arya had become more than a friend to him. He would never admit it to her, of course, he wasn’t about to ruin their friendship by admitting to feelings she most likely didn’t share, but sometimes he felt like maybe she did. Now for example, when she could have gone anywhere, she came to him. 

“Arya?” Gendry asks softly, playing, absently with the end of her shortened hair. “How did you get here?” 

“I walked.” she tells him. It’s not a total stretch. She only lives a few miles away in the neighboring community, only a few blocks from his father. It is, however, a long way to walk when you’re distraught. 

“Why didn’t you just borrow one of your father’s cars?” 

“No one knows I’m gone. I climbed out the window.” she explains. 

“What? Arya? Their probably worried sick about you.” Gendry says pulling back enough to finally look at her. “Where’s your phone, at least call them to let them know you’re alright.” 

“I left my phone at home by mistake. I was in such a hurry to leave I forgot it wasn’t in my pocket.” she has the decency to sound apologetic at least. “I really don’t want to talk to any of them right now.” she continues before he can insist again. 

Gendry sighs. “Alright, fine.” he relents. They sit in silence for a bit, Arya fiddling with the laces on her shoes, but it’s not awkward. That’s the thing about them, it’s never awkward between them, even when it would be for other people. They’re just comfortable with each other, in any situation and that fact sits heavily in Gendry’s chest whenever she’s around. 

Without thinking he reaches out to her, running a hand through her shortened hair. “I really like this.” he tells her, watching the color rise up across her cheeks. 

“Really?” she asks, so unsure it feels like a physical blow. Brash, loud, confident Arya Stark should never sound that vulnerable, ever. 

“Yeah.” he smiles. “Its… you.” 

“You don’t… you don’t think it was a bad idea? Like maybe I made a rash decision or something.” 

“No.” he replies. “Well, you may have acted rashly, I can’t say otherwise, I wasn’t there, but it worked out. You look beautiful. Well, you’ve always been beautiful, but now you look like you’ve settled into yourself. Kind of like you’re more comfortable in your own skin if that makes any sense.”

Arya’s smile is shy as she reaches up and tugs absently on the ends of her hair. “Yeah, it does.” 


End file.
